Some of the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn
their perennial orange, yellow and brown while others stubbornly
remained
green, mixing together in a bowl of cycling life.It was mid-morning and the sun had yet to
fully warm up the day and there was a cool bite in the air that
possibly
required a sweatshirt or a long sleeve shirt if you hadn’t fully
adjusted to
the changing seasons.On
a normally
similar day I might have braved the cooling air in shorts and a hooded
sweatshirt, maybe a warm cup of coffee in one hand and the morning
paper in the
other.But, the
cancer ripping through
my body made me more susceptible to the changing seasons and I was
bundled from
head to toe in a jacket, sweatshirt and jeans with wool socks, while I
sat on
the front porch with my cup of coffee watching the leaves fall and
straining to
see if I could catch the changing of the green leaves to orange or
brown or
yellow.It was my
favorite time of the year
and an unusually beautiful day.Despite
the beautiful changes all around me, I could only focus on the possible
change
in front of me, the ultimate change.Life turning to death, but for me no naturalistic circle
back to
life.

It
was a beautiful day to die.

My wife loaded the back of our car with my bags and a
pillow,
while I watched from my seat on the porch.Part of me wanted to help her or even take over and load
the car
meticulously by myself and keep chivalry alive, at least in our
household, but
a larger part simply wanted to watch and reflect and contemplate all of
the
simple nuances of life, like the changing of the leaves on trees or the
way the
steam wafted out of my coffee cup and into the morning breeze.The car was loaded and I
shuffled slowly to
the passenger seat wishing that I had more time to sit and reflect or
debate
what to do.Time,
that precious
overlooked commodity that steadily pulls away from us, was doing just
that.

I could hear the fallen leaves crunching under the tires
as
my wife backed out of the driveway and onto our street.She put the car in drive and we pulled away
slowly.I watched
through my window as
our house of twenty-two years slowly receded into the background and
then
disappeared.She
turned the radio to
ninety-five point one The True Oldies
Station not because she liked it, but because I did.

We went through the first green light and I hardly
noticed,
the car never needing to slow down or speed up.Usually, we hit the red light and had to stop and
impatiently wait for
the cross street to have their turn or the women with strollers to
cross in
front of us.How
silly it seemed to be
so impatient, so in a hurry to get where we were going and then repeat
the
process in reverse to get back.That
little four letter word that so effectively, yet subconsciously
directed our
lives.Time.

More leaves were falling around the city, but some still
held out in their greens and purples waiting until the last moment to
change
and then fall to the ground, the dirt, the concrete and the grass.We went through another
green light and then
another and my wife verbally acknowledged our string of luck.I smiled and nodded,
inwardly wishing we weren’t
so lucky.Time kept
moving, seemingly
faster and faster while all I wanted it to do was stop or at least slow
down.

Of course I wasn’t necessarily going to die today.My oncologist had told me
that I had a nearly
fifty percent chance of survival.Nearly
fifty percent!That
meant that fifty
people out of a hundred that were going to be cut open and have pounds
of
murderous black engulfing cancer removed from their body would survive.Nearly fifty percent!Of course that also meant
that the other
fifty people would die under the knife and depending on the strength of
their
faith would never know it.The
blackness
would encompass everything and the cancer would no longer be the issue.I couldn’t help but wonder
what my actual
chance of survival was since I was nearly fifty percent, which meant
not quite
fifty.Was I at
forty-nine or closer to
forty-five?Was it
a case of round up to
the nearest number divisible by ten, which meant I could realistically
have a
forty-one percent chance of survival?

Since the diagnosis and then the decision to operate had
been made, I’d bravely decided to think positively like my wife did and
lean
more toward the positive side of fifty percent.For no more than a few early moments did I focus on the
negative side, the
fact that I realistically had a better chance to die than I did to live.Until I’d stepped into the
car and began
watching my world change and quickly fade away with each green light we
passed
under, I had thought about the positive chances, that I was going to
beat this
thing and wake up with my wife and daughters standing over me in the
hospital
room and later at home with my grandson in my lap.

We went through another green light and I felt my heart
quicken with each rotation of the rubber tires beneath us, bringing me
closer
and closer to what I knew could be the end.I found myself looking more to the rear than the front or
the side, frantically
trying to hold onto the lights and the leaves and the other cars lucky
enough
to catch a red light.I
just wanted more
time, time to be with my wife, time to suck in the clean cool air.

The last light was green and we passed under it
unceremoniously, while my wife again pronounced our good fortune.I couldn’t force myself to
acknowledge her, I
was too preoccupied with the blur around me.She turned into the hospital and we passed by the brightly
lit red
EMERGENCY ROOM sign, a sign I’d passed under several times in the last
year.Even those
bright red lights
proved elusive as we passed by on our way to the general admittance
entrance on
the other side.I
watched the letters until
we disappeared around the corner and then pulled into an empty parking
space.

My wife turned the car off and then squeezed my hand,
forcing me to remember that she was even there.She smiled and kissed me on the cheek, bravely fighting
back the nervous
tears that I knew were just beyond the surface and ready to overflow.It was hard to smile, hard
to reassure her
that things would be ok when I had no assurance to offer myself.My mind was on the nearly
fifty percent and
on all of the missed opportunities that had flown by with each bright
green
light.Why oh why couldn’t there have been at least one
red light, one
short stoppage in time to let me soak in what was, what is and what
could
be.Time had indeed
proved elusive,
leaving me with only a fast forwarded version of what I wanted.

I stepped out of the car and slowly pushed my door shut,
savoring even that ordinary and unglorified motion.The trunk was open and I could hear my wife
pulling out my baggage.I
looked around
at the nearly full parking lot, seeing the trees beyond the concrete
with their
leaves going through their cycle of life, most of them succumbing
quickly to
the change but some of them holding out until the last possible moment,
reluctant to let go.

I felt my wife’s familiar touch on my elbow and then she
asked if I was ready.I
nodded.Before we
passed through the sliding glass
doors to the hospital I stopped.I
closed my eyes and sucked in one last clean crisp breath of air.I no longer needed my eyes
open to see the beautiful
world around me.

I opened my eyes and stepped through without looking
back.If I died
today, it was indeed a
beautiful day to die.

Isaac
was born and raised in west central Illinois and graduated from
Monmouth-Roseville High School.He
obtained a Bachelor’s of Science degree from Western Illinois
University in
2010 and has worked for the State of Iowa since 2012. Currently, he
lives
between Iowa City and Davenport with his wife and two children.Isaac can be contacted at
ijhunt1987.ih@gmail.com.